LITTLE CRACKS Kaleena Cote Damp and slippery on my cheek The same beneath my skin I push and prod and try to sculpt A battle I won't win The room shares silence with my breath Thoughts are in suspension I push and prod and try to sculpt Shoulders bear the tension I wipe the wetness from my eyes The grayness masks my face I push and prod and try to sculpt It's lonely in this place I just can't seem to get it right Perhaps the clay's too dry? I push and prod and try to sculpt Then stop and wonder why: Why am I so concerned with flaws? Who cares about a crack? I push and prod and try to sculpt Thinking I'll get the knack But then I pause and lift my head And stand and look around Then kick the spinning pile of clay Over onto the ground The sides cave in and the walls break The bottom splits in half I brush my hands off a few times A grin turns to a laugh